


Maybe Tomorrow

by nevercomestheday



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Comedy RPF, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, RPF, Secret Crush, Slash, Time Skips, Wifeless AU, five things, sort of cheesy, well really six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevercomestheday/pseuds/nevercomestheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Stephen wanted to tell Jon how he felt, and the one time he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I liked real!Stephen/Jon, but then I read a few... And then I woke up about an hour ago with the song "A Thousand Years" (cheese central) in my head and this idea hit me and I just had to write it, even though it was 4am.   
> Disclaimer I should probably add to all my RPFs: This is fiction, I don't own anybody, I don't believe this happened, I make no assumptions or claims about their sexualities, etc.  
> And fair warning, there's quite a bit of sappiness in this one, especially towards the end.   
> <3 Enjoy!

It's February 8, 1999, and the new guy is doing pretty well. There's something about him that Stephen likes- maybe it's his smart sense of humor, maybe it's the way he can make even the worst jokes work somehow, maybe it's the way his voice glides through Stephen's head like a zamboni across an ice rink. 

The segment they're shooting is a desk segment, a cheesy soap opera parody. Stephen is wrapped up in character, stonefaced and committed, when Jon rests a comforting hand on his wrist and squeezes gently. 

The spark that shoots up through his arm is jarring and unexpected, and nearly knocks him off his place. 

By the end of the segment, when Jon chuckles and smiles with his lips pressed together, butterflies are swirling through Stephen's stomach, though he can't tell for certain why.

"Do you want to go get a drink?" He finds the words in his mouth after taping ends, feet somehow standing in Jon's office doorway.

There's that smile again. "Sure." 

Whatever this is, Stephen can't fathom, but he can figure it out later. Maybe tomorrow.

 

It's November 8, 2000, and the election results hang in the air like a thick cloud of smoke. The show's over, the drinks are out, and, as they've made a habit of doing lately, Stephen and Jon are sitting off to the side of the set, talking about something that may as well have been aimed at Stephen's deaf ear.

He's responding, he's mostly there, but the sparkle in Jon's sweet blue eyes has his attention more than anything they could be saying right now about the election. 

"What?" Jon chuckles, noticing the way Stephen's mouth is turned up in a little smile.

It takes him a second. "You have something in your hair," Stephen lies, and goes to brush something imaginary from the little grey streaks near his boss's temple.

Not enough booze, not enough time, not enough courage. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

 

It's December 10, 2001, and Al Sharpton is not here. Someone suggested they bring in a replacement for the interview, but Jon looked at Stephen. 

They must've been thinking the same thing, because soon Stephen is coming out to the interview set, and Jon is smiling with his whole face. 

The segment rolls along smoothly, somehow much funnier than either expected. Every time Jon chuckles, laughter bubbles up through Stephen, too. He's not always quite sure why.

The past two years have seen a lot of growth, and the boundaries between the two relax with every passing day. The hand that touched his wrist and sent electricity shooting through him two years ago still holds the same power, and Stephen hopes it doesn't show over the airwaves.

Cut to commercial and Stephen turns to Jon, as he always does, to find Jon's beautiful blue eyes already shining towards him. 

Is that excitement? Stephen can't tell. It's drowned out by a nagging fear. 

_Don't get your hopes up. Don't get your hopes up._

They walk off set together, and now's just not a good time, maybe tomorrow.

 

It's November 10, 2003. Stephen is riding the familiar high of coaxing out his favorite laugh once more on camera. 

"That segment with the banana... How did you even do that? I was afraid I would have to go over there and give you the Heimlich!" Jon giggles on the way off set.

Stephen just shrugs, trying not to think about Jon's arms wrapped around him. "Lots of practice," he jokes with a wink. 

"You'll have to show me sometime," Jon throws back. The humor in his voice may be obvious, but he says it while looking Stephen in the eye, and maybe he's just imagining it, it couldn't be.

Stephen doesn't say anything for a beat, and Jon's hand makes its way to his shoulder, warm. "You know, you're one of the funniest people I've ever known. You always get me to break."

There's that thought, creeping forward from the recesses of his mind like it does every day. Another opportunity. The hallway is empty, Jon is looking at him, his hand is still on Stephen's shoulder. 

He swallows, finding a lump in his throat. 

"I'm just learning from you, Jon."

Maybe tomorrow. 

 

It's November 2, 2004, and the segment Stephen's been anxious for is coming up. It's campy, it's stupid, but it'll be the closest Stephen's sure Jon will come to kissing him, and he will not ruin it. 

Their hands meet over the slice of pizza, their eyes meet over their hands, and though everything in his head reminds Stephen that it's silly, his heart still skips a beat when he sees Jon coming towards him, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. 

He doesn't close his eyes until he's sure he has to, wanting to save this picture in his mind and frame it on the wall of his heart. 

The rest of the segment comes and goes, and Stephen can only hope Jon didn't feel his hand trembling. 

_I should tell him. I'm gonna tell him. I have to tell him._

They walk into Jon's office together, laughing as the door creaks to a near close. Stephen watches him search through some papers on his desk, smiling at the look of determination and chuckling at the disaster area his office has become. 

"Hey, Jon?" Stephen says when Jon finally looks up.

"Yeah?"

"...You should really use your filing cabinet."

So much for courage. Oh well, maybe tomorrow. 

 

  
It's September 21, 2008, but really it's already the 22nd. Whatever Emmys after party this is has long since disinterested Stephen, but Jon is here, and Jon is entertaining enough for him no matter where they are.

Every minute with Jon is more special now that they work in separate studios. 

 _It's not a long walk, I'll still see him,_ but it's longer than the hallway, and it's less often than four times a week.

They're off to the side, still in their suits and now-loosened ties, and Jon is laughing into his drink. 

The lights are dim, but Stephen takes a moment to take in the sight. Jon's eyes, still their shimmering blue, are crinkling up in the corners with laughter. The smile lines on his face are a little deeper now than they were when they first met, and his hair is much, much greyer. 

"I'm an old man," he'd always say, to which Stephen would reply,

"A silver fox, maybe."

They've both had a few more drinks than they care to remember, and their usual touchy-feely jokiness has a slightly different feel to it. Jon's hand isn't just patting Stephen's shoulder now, it's caressing it. 

Stephen says something, whatever it was, he doesn't recall, and Jon puts his drink down on the table next to them and looks at him fondly. It seems to happen in slow motion, and maybe that's just the booze, but the next two steps are slow, and the arms snaking around him are even slower. 

The hug feels like home and Jon smells like Jon. His head fits so well in the crook of Stephen's neck, and when the tears start to sting his eyes, Stephen shouts in his head that he's only drunk, he's only drunk, he's only drunk.

Jon doesn't move for a minute, and maybe now is a good time. Stephen looks around the room, and everyone seems far enough, distracted enough.

"Hey, Jon?"

"Mmph?"

He bites his lip, he closes his eyes, his mouth is open and the breath comes in and, and-

"I love you," but Stephen doesn't say it.

"What?" 

"I love you, Stephen."

His hands are shaking against Jon's back, and when he's faced with those big blue eyes again, he finds tears in his own. "Jon, you're drunk."

"Maybe a little, but I wasn't drunk earlier tonight, or yesterday, or all these eight years or whatever it is. I'm just drunk enough now that I'm not as scared as I normally know I should be."

"Scared?" Stephen falters.

"Terrified. I weigh the options every day. Do I tell you and risk losing your company altogether? I don't know what I'd do without you." He takes Stephen's hands now, and they're still trembling.

"Oh, god, Jon..." There's that lump in Stephen's throat again.

"It didn't happen all at once. It's not like I looked at you that first day in the office and thought, 'I'm gonna fall in love with this guy.' It was like... Like the sun setting around me slowly, and now I'm swimming in darkness. And I know I'm supposed to be afraid of the dark, but it's warm, and pleasant, and the stars are coming out in your eyes." He smiles like he does when he's trying not to laugh, pressing his lips together, but it's slightly twisted, and a stray tear runs down his cheek.

Stephen's cheeks already ache from smiling as wide as he's ever smiled at Jon. He can't help but chuckle, and though he doesn't know why, Jon echoes his laughter as always.

"That was the cheesiest thing I've ever heard, Stewart." He pulls Jon close again and kisses him, finally, truly, deeply.

Not a stage kiss, not an almost-kiss, not a congratulatory kiss on the cheek or a mugging-for-the-camera kiss or any of the other things Stephen lived on before, but one that sends a new sort of shock through his system. 

His heart is racing and his palms are sweaty and he's sure the whole party is looking at them but he'll be damned if he cares at all.

They pull back, and there on Jon's face is a new smile, one Stephen's never seen before but already loves more than any face he's ever seen him wear.

"I've always loved you, Jon." He bites his bottom lip. "Always."

A pause, and Jon looks at him almost mischievously. 

"So, uh, do you want to go get a drink?" Jon says with a soft giggle. 

Maybe he's always known, and maybe Stephen's always known somewhere deep down, too. He kisses Jon's forehead for a long beat and smiles warmly against his skin. 

"Maybe tomorrow."


End file.
